


of pounding rain and panic attacks

by lavender_tea_writes



Series: Parkner Week 2019 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_tea_writes/pseuds/lavender_tea_writes
Summary: “How’re you doing darlin’?”“Panic attack,” Peter choked out though tears, “bad one.”“Shit,” Harley mumbled, “Ok, I’m on my way."ORPeter has a panic attack. Harley is there for him.





	of pounding rain and panic attacks

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF A PANIC ATTACK. DO NOT READ IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU. please stay safe!
> 
> Parkner Week 2019 day 7- angst
> 
> for some reason i was not feeling this prompt but I told myself i would write every day so here's some shit.

It was raining and Peter was overwhelmed. 

The rain pummeled down on the windows of his apartment, slicking the roads and sidewalks below. Normally, he would be put on patrol, protecting the people of Queens from petty crime, but instead, he found himself wrapped in blankets in the corner of his room. 

Thunder clapped and Peter jumped. He could almost feel the rain pounding against the walls and pushing them in towards him, the sounds getting closer and closer and louder and louder until they were drowned out by Peter’s own ragged breathing. 

He told himself to breathe, to keep the oxygen flowing into his lungs and circulating through his body. With every badly controlled breath he took, it felt like the walls crept in another inch. Peter gripped at his shirt and dug his nails into his collarbone, wanting to rip his chest open to get himself enough air. 

He needed help. His body wasn’t listening to his demands of count-controlled breathing. He reached a shaking hand over to his phone, laying a few feet away, where he had dropped it when he heard the first thunderclap. He typed in his passcode, but his shakes fingers missed the final digit and his phone vibrated in defiance. He tried again, and failed. The pace of his breathing picked up once again. 

He took his time to type in the passcode correctly, quickly pressing on Harley’s contact to call him. He picked up almost immediately. 

“How’re you doing darlin’?”

“Panic attack,” Peter choked out through tears, “bad one.”

“Shit,” Harley mumbled, “Ok, I’m on my way. I’ll stay on the phone with you while I’m on my way, but I’ll need to hang up and call you back from FRIDAY’s servers instead of my phone, ok?”

Peter murmured an agreement and Harley hung up. It felt like an eternity until Harley called back only seconds later. 

“It’s alright baby, I’m here. I’m seven minutes away. That’s only the length of two songs, right?”

“Right,” Peter squeaked out. 

“Can we do some breathing together, love?”

“I tried. My body didn’t listen.”

“Can you try again with me? Just try, baby, for me please?”

“Ok.”

“You’re going to breathe in for four counts, a nice deep breath, and then hold for seven, and release the breath in eight counts. You can do it, sugar. Ready?” And Harley started his counting, adding in an extra affirmation after each cycle of breath. 

After a few minutes of routine breathing, Peter can mostly control it himself. He still had the occasional hitch on the intake and could feel heavy panic sitting on his chest, but he’s better than he was when he heard a metal  _ clink _ through the phone. 

“Alright, I'm here baby, I’m going to hang up so I can come in. One moment,” Harley said, and hung up. He bust through the door a moment later, causing Peter to jump and his breathing to pick back up again.

“Shit, I’m- I’m sorry honey,” Harley said and he took a step forward. Peter held his right hand out, urging him to keep his distance while his left clung to the collar of his shirt. 

“Alright, baby, I’m sorry, I can stay over here,” Harley took a crouched position in Peter’s doorway, “Can we do some more breathing together?” Peter nodded, and Harley began to count off again, just as he did over the phone. Harley took a step closer with every cycle of breathes, and Peter let him. 

Peter’s breath was returning to normal after seven repetitions of the exercise, and Harley had moved to his side and gripped his hand tight, squeezing it with every count. When Peter stopped crying and loosened his grip on his shirt, Harley stopped counting and finally spoke.

“Can I hug you, sugar?”

Peter nodded and reached out towards the other boy. He leaned back onto the blankets now bunches up behind him, dragging Harley with him. They lay in Peter’s corner for several minutes, completely silent. 

“Can I ask what caused it?” Harley asked tentatively.

“It was the storm. It was too much, too loud, I could feel the air pressure, and it got too overwhelming.”

Harley hugs him in closer, “I’m so sorry darlin’. It’s ok now, I’m here. You’re alright.”

And he was. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos feed my hungry soul and keep me motivated to write for the rest of Parkner Week!


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